


Some Scars are Made Before the Fight Begins

by hitchhikersmanualtothetardis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Body Worship, Cutting, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 09:26:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3891142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hitchhikersmanualtothetardis/pseuds/hitchhikersmanualtothetardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every member of the pack has their own pre-fight rituals. Now that their relationship is public, Derek wants to make Stiles part of his ritual, but instead makes a shocking discovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Scars are Made Before the Fight Begins

Everyone has their own pre-fight ritual. Lydia paints her nails, Allison sharpens her arrows, Scott thinks about Allison. Now that the whole group knows about them, Derek wants to add Stiles to his ritual. Stiles has always been very secretive about what he does to prepare for a fight, but Derek follows his scent straight to his house. 

The smell is faint at first, but it grows stronger as he grows closer, along with the smell of something else, something coppery, something Derek immediately recognizes as blood. It’s faint, but it’s strong enough for Derek to run full speed to Stiles’ window, jumping in and scanning the room quickly.

“Holy fuck!” Stiles screams from his spot on his bed, scrambling to cover himself with blankets. “What the fuck Derek!?”

“I smelled blood. Is everyone okay?” Derek asks, curiosity mixed with worry spreading across his normally stoic face. 

Stiles ran his hand over his head in a worried motion, sighing before saying, “Yeah, everyone—ah, fuck—everyone’s fine.” 

“You do not sound fine. And it smells awful in here. What are you hiding?” The worry fades, being replaced with what looked a lot like irritation.

“Nothing.” Stiles determined after the fact that he had spoken too quickly to be convincing. Derek just glared. 

“Stiles.”

“What? Nothing! I swear!”

“Do not lie to me.”

“I am not lying!”

“I can hear your heartbeat. I know your lying.”

Stiles made a disgusted noise, before turning to stare at the floor and slowly moving the blanket, uncovering his scarred and bloody legs and the razor blades resting next to them. Derek took a deep, shaky breath, and Stiles winced away from him, fearing what came next. 

Derek said nothing, simply picked up the razor blades and slipped them into his pocket. Then, he left, this time using Stiles’ bedroom door instead of the window like he normally would. His footsteps got quieter and quieter, and as soon as he could no longer hear them Stiles started to cry. The tears came quicker than expected, running down his face in small rivulets. He sniffed, wiping his tears on his sleeves. He stared down at his legs, watching the blood run down his thighs, then slowly watching the tears falling from his face mix with it.

He heard more footsteps, and rushed to cover himself back up, thinking ‘Please don’t let it be dad, don’t let him see me like this.’ 

He was infinitely shocked when he heard Derek’s voice from his doorway. “I couldn’t find any washcloths that weren’t white, so it’s going to suck to bleach this, but—” Derek crossed through the doorway, and finally looking up from the wet washcloth in his hands to see the tears still streaming down Stiles face along with the look of complete shock. Derek froze. That’s when Stiles really broke down, sobbing into his hands. Derek walked over, placing the washcloth on Stiles’ desk, sitting down on the bed next to him, and wrapping his arms around the Stiles. He shushed him gently, hugging him tightly so Stiles was crying into Derek’s shoulder. 

They sat like that for a moment before Stiles’ hiccupping sobs began to slow. Derek gently pulled him away, wiping the tears from his eyes and standing to grab the washcloth.

“I thought you left,” Stiles whispered through the last of his tears, “I thought you were leaving me.”

“Of course not, never,” Derek said, pushing aside the blanket to reveal Stiles’ pale, blood-smeared legs. He wiped away the blood until Stiles’ legs were clean and the washcloth was thoroughly stained. Small beads of blood reappeared on the thin red streaks. Derek stood up, leaned over and kissed Stiles’ temple gently, whispering, “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Stiles nodded, and Derek disappeared out through the door again, then reappeared seconds later holding a first-aid kit. He stayed silent as he sat back down on the bed, wiping at the cuts with alcohol wipes, then wrapping gauze around his thigh and taping it down. Finally he spoke, quietly and gently, “Is there any others?”

Stiles nodded solemnly and lifted the sleeve of his shirt to reveal smudged blood and thin lines across his shoulder, but Derek could see that they stretched past what was visible. 

“Shirt off. Now.” Derek demanded.

Stiles, in his increasing nervousness, started blabbering about how Derek might have been rushing things a bit, but was having a hard time sounding suggestive with his voice still raw from crying, and he instantly stopped speaking when Derek shot him a look that screamed, ‘This is really not an appropriate time.’ 

Stiles stood up and slowly removed his shirt, wincing as he lifted it above his head. Across his shoulders, down his chest, and all over his stomach were thin, long lines, a mix of new scratches and old scars. They did not hurt much, but Stiles winced for fear of how Derek would react, but there was no clear reaction. His face did not change and he remained silent, moving only to lift his hands to Stiles’ stomach. They stood there like that for a moment, before Derek sighed.

“How long?” he finally asked.

“It started in elementary school, but picked up throughout middle school. It slowly became part of my pre-fight ritual. It’s not a big deal, just—” Stiles started, but Derek raised a hand to cut him off.

“Why?” He asked it so quietly that Stiles barely heard him, but he had been anticipating this question, as well as fearing it. 

“I have had people tell me that I do it because it makes the emotional pain manifest itself in physical form, which is much easier to deal with. That’s the answer that always made the most sense to me. Other than that I have never really been sure, it just…it makes everything else hurt less. Plus it’s super addicting.” Stiles spoke in even more of a rush than normal, speeding through his words all in one breath. 

Derek’s phone buzzed and he sighed, pausing for a moment before answering. He nodded more than he spoke, like he did not know how a phone worked. Finally he said, “Okay, we’re on our way, we will be there any moment.”

Stiles sighed in relief and pulled his shirt back on, glad to be getting out of the inevitably awful conversation. Derek grabbed his hands after they appeared through his sleeves, then slid his hands up Stiles’ arms and reached up to cup his face before kissing him gently. “This conversation isn’t over.”

~

The fight was over and everyone had been patched up, no one had died this fight, so everyone smiled, said their good-byes, got in their individual cars and left. Stiles got into the passenger’s seat of Derek’s car and Derek began speeding off towards his loft. He did not speak the whole car ride, making Stiles endlessly uncomfortable, but when he opened his mouth to speak Derek simply reached over and held his hand, effectively shutting him up for the rest of the ride.

When they arrived, Stiles was torn between running straight inside to fall asleep in Derek’s arms and turning around and running towards home to avoid the inevitable conversation to come. Of course, he opted for following Derek inside. Derek closed the door behind them, then turned to face Stiles, grabbing is hands again. 

“Are you okay? You seem nervous.” Derek asked so bluntly that Stiles was sure he had forgotten about his promise to continue their previous conversation.

“I’m fine,” Stiles stuttered, knowing his heartbeat gave him away, but not really caring. He was not going to admit how afraid he was. He was afraid that Derek would be mad at him, or worse yet, break up with him for any number of reasons at this point. “It’s just…umm…I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

“Mad at you? Stiles. You know I love you, right?” Stiles nodded in response, but did not speak, so Derek continued. “I might be upset that you didn’t tell me, and incredibly concerned, but I am by no means mad at you.” 

Stiles sighed and wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck. He felt tears of relief pricking his eyes, but refused to let them fall. He had had enough of looking weak for a lifetime, especially in front of Derek. 

“Why didn’t you tell me, Stiles?”

“What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, babe, how was your day? Oh by the way, I spend a good chunk of my time covering myself in increasingly more hideous scars.’” Stiles’ sarcastic side was showing clear as day and Derek pulled away slightly to scowl at him.

“Yes! That would have been perfectly fine! At least you would have told me and I could’ve… I don’t know, done something to help!” Derek’s voice was raised in distressed pain, but he was not yet at the point of yelling. 

Stiles laughed dryly under his breath before wriggling out of Derek’s arms and going to sit on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. Derek stood there staring at him for a moment before crossing the room to sit next to him. Stiles finally looked up, speaking softly, “I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to blame yourself. I knew you would and I just—I couldn’t handle that. And there’s nothing you can do to help, there’s nothing anyone can do to help. It’s been happening for years. I have resigned myself to cutting for all of eternity.”

“You can’t know that,” Derek wrapped his arm around Stiles, pulling him closer as he spoke, “You can’t know that I can’t help. And how did you think you could hide this from me for ‘eternity’? You thought I would never see you with your shirt off?”

Stiles shrugged. “I honestly thought you would break up with me long before then, or that the second you did see the scars you would break up with me because of how awful they make me look.”

“No, stop saying that. You are beautiful, and your scars may not be your favorite thing, but they are a part of you and will continue to be. You may not be able to get rid of the ones you have, but you have the power to stop creating more, especially if you hate them so much. I know it’s going to be hard, but I will be there for you,” Derek paused to lean closer, then continued, gently kissing Stiles between each of his words, “You. Are. Beautiful.”

Stiles could not help but look away at Derek’s words. He wanted so badly to believe him, believe that he could stop cutting himself if he just tried. That’s when he felt a hand sliding up his shirt and heard Derek whisper, “Hold still.”

Derek slid Stiles shirt up his body, carefully pulling it over his head. He began kissing the scars one by one, whispering over and over, “Beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous.” Stiles breath caught in his throat as Derek’s hand reached down, slowly sliding off Stiles’ pants. Derek began moving his kisses and admirations downwards, kissing each and every scar on his way, around Stiles’ shoulders, across his chest, over his stomach, down his thighs. There was nothing sexual about it, just sweet, innocent kisses over scars and slices and bandages from earlier. Suddenly Stiles couldn’t breathe, and at first he thought it was an asthma attack, but he quickly realized that he was just so overcome with emotion that his heart had caught in his throat. Derek leaned back up, kissing his lips again, only pulling away when he was sure Stiles was breathing again. 

~

The next fight rolled around, and the next, and the next, and every time Derek sped off to Stiles’ house as soon as he knew he was home from school. Every time he would climb in the window to find Stiles sitting on his bed in the same place he had been when Derek found him the first time, staring at his scarred legs, holding razors in his hands, but never placing them to his skin. Every time Derek would walk over, take the razors away, and kiss his scars. It was hard for Stiles, but he managed quite well, and having Derek there definitely helped. It became their new ritual.


End file.
